


baby we can make it if we’re heart to heart

by pterodactyl_in_the_chest



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sharing a Bed, confessions!, eddie is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 15:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterodactyl_in_the_chest/pseuds/pterodactyl_in_the_chest
Summary: Surviving Pennywise was hard enough. A night with Eddie in a room with one bed, though? That just might kill Richie for good.post-canon. fix-it? they go back to the hotel, things happen. it’s all good.





	baby we can make it if we’re heart to heart

**Author's Note:**

> me and microsoft word aren't best at english, sorry for mistakes  
also i've never watched IT with original, not dubbed voices/dialogue, so i'm sorry if it's a bit... weird?? idk

Right now, Richie’s biggest wish was to lie _down_. Everything smelled like shit, like sewers and river water, there was blood in his hair, his clothes and under his nails, blood and whatever the fuck that stupid clown was filled with, but he really, _really _didn’t care. He wanted to close his eyes, hopefully without any monsters eating him as he did, to finally take the deep breath at the safety of the hotel, since driving was out of question for another day or two. He wasn’t this exhausted even after his first stand-up with the tough crowd; at least then Richie had only himself to blame for forgetting that not everyone would huff in amusement at his stupid jokes, that not everyone was Eddie.

Speaking of Eddie.

“Are you fucking _serious?”_

Eddie, who was stomping around like an annoyed cat with no place to settle down, eyes burning holes in the only bed that was in the room. In the last available room in the hotel, that is, which was why Eddie kept cursing owner’s whole family, going three generations back. Richie remembered being at the receiving end of Eddie’s anger, what an experience that was. Not designed for all, it was more of an acquired taste, salty and spicy with satisfying afterglow. Richie could proudly declare that he was the only person on the planet with the liking of said taste.

Those soft-looking pillows didn’t deserve it, though. The blissful sleep would never come if Eddie kept fuming.

“Buddy.” Mindlessly scratching his itching eyes, Richie leaned back against the armchair he was sitting in, relaxing deeper into the worn leather. “I can sleep on the couch tonight, if we’re fighting, darling.” He winked, mostly just to divert Eddie’s glare from the bed to himself. “Or on the floor, even. It hurts me _so _deeply that you won’t share a bed with me, but let’s hope I live.”

_Every joke has some truth to it_, Richie thought, feeling a little pinch inside his heart, right at the wound he thought had grown shut in the past twenty-seven years. Turns out it didn’t, he just learned to live with it, ignoring the pain and drowning the rest in booze. But since coming to Derry, no, since their meeting in that Chinese place, it showed itself more clearly and wouldn’t go away, kept bleeding.

Eddie frowned and opened his mouth to argue, to say something, to remind Richie how disgusting it was to sleep where people usually sat or walked. Nothing that Richie was willing to hear. 

_His eyes are so fucking pretty when he’s angry._

“Well! It’s decided then, huh?” He jumped up, stretching until his joints popped, making Eddie wince at the sound, and didn’t even bother to hide his pleased smile. “I’m calling shotgun on the shower!” 

“You can’t call shotgun–“

The rest of Eddie’s complain got cut off as the wooden door swung shut. Richie took that deep breath in the relative silence of the bathroom, but it didn’t ease the tired feeling in his bones. He didn’t spare a glance at his own reflection, getting in the shower before the water got hot, begging his brain to mercifully forget all the problems for the next half an hour.

He should have thought it through. Putting on the dirty clothes would be disgusting even by Richie’s standards, and honestly, he should probably just burn that shirt. But that meant that he had no clothes to pull on aside from his boxers, and _that_meant exiting the bathroom only in a towel. They had sleepovers before, as kids; god, they swam in the river together almost fucking naked, but now it felt different, more real, heavy with consequences.

_For fucks sake, Tozier, you’ve literally killed a fucking monster-clown a couple of hours ago, stop being such a bitch._

Richie closed his eyes as he pushed the door open and took the smallest steps into the room. 

The bed was messy, no longer looking like it hasn’t been touched in ten or so years, as if Eddie tried going to sleep, couldn’t find the right spot, and instead decided to get up and didn’t quite make it. He sat almost at the edge, clean shirt on with a pair of soft shorts – _he didn’t miss the shorts, shut up,– _hair ruffled, surrounded by pillows with a heavy blanket at his feet.

Richie stared, sure, he was only human after all, but his attention quickly shifted. 

“The fuck.”

Eddie’s fingers kept rubbing absently against the bottleneck, entrancing circles breaking with each shuddering breath that he took. Eddie wasn’t looking at him, completely lost in his thoughts, staring at the brown moldy patch in the corner of the wall, as if daring it to move, to drip down and attack.

His eyes were red, and Richie _hoped _he wasn’t seeing tear tracks reflecting in dim lights.

“Eds?” 

Richie wasn't afraid; he was fucking _terrified_. He knew how Eddie got scared, hell, his hobby for most of the childhood was to spook the shit out of him. He was familiar with angry, annoyed and frustrated Eddie, the one from twenty-seven years ago who yelled at him that whole time after breaking the hand, the one who could and would fight if needed, who always got something to say back.

This silent, sobbing and lost Eddie was a stranger and Richie had no idea what to do.

“Eds.” He never moved more quietly, throwing on the first shit he found. Something too tight, probably Eddie’s, Richie didn’t bring much of his own. He got to bed, before reaching out hesitantly.

With a start Eddie turned his head, almost spilling the rest of the bottle onto the sheets, looking away from the spot and focusing somewhere under Richie’s glasses. He frowned, like the room, the lights and the hand on his shoulder were all tuning him back into reality, thoughts pushed away into darker corners. “Yeah?” 

Richie smelled whiskey under his breath. He looked down at the bottle, liquid golden in the dull glow. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope. Are you stupid?” Eddie tried to smile but it broke easily as he took shallow breaths. Unsurprisingly, he was a lightweight, blinking lazily, blush already high on his cheeks, short nails clicking against the glass. “Don’t answer that – I know you are.”

Their fingers met on the neck of the bottle. Eddie let go easily, eyes following Richie as he set it down, on the floor against the night table, trying to hide it in the gap between the wood and the wall.

Eddie prodded at the bandage on his cheek from the inside, wincing right after. It didn’t look as bad as Richie thought it would, changed not too long ago. “Need help with it?”

“Think Bev did a good enough job.” The little flare of annoyance inside Richie’s chest wasn’t fair, Beverly didn’t do anything wrong. It was his problem, his and his dumbass heart.

_Should I tell them your secret?_

“Go to sleep, or I’m gonna tell on you to your mom.” 

Eddie fell back, bouncing lightly against the mattress, but didn’t stop staring at Richie from under his half-closed eyelids. He looked gentle, yellow light warming his eyes, sleepy exhaustion softening the expression, drunkenness slowing his every move. _Cute_. But he was watching Richie with the same look from earlier stupor – heavy, daring, waiting for him to get the answer. 

The problem here, Richie hasn’t even heard the question.

“You are so fucking dumb, Trashmouth, it’s unbelievable.” Eddie said with a laugh or maybe a sob. He moved, lying on his side now, bringing legs to his chest, pulling the blanket around himself. “One day you will win the Darwin’s award, I swear.” 

“Fuck off.” His wrist got grabbed before he could take a step back. “What?”

“Get in bed, Tozier.” 

_Shit._

“That’s what your mom usual–“ 

“_Beep beep, _Richie.” Eddie sounded tired, and Richie felt it too, hitting him like a wave. “I want you here, with me, you prick_. _I can’t sleep alone._”_

_He’s so drunk._

Richie took a few moments to process that, ignoring the part of him that set itself on fire at his selfishness. The words resonated in his head on so many levels, stuck and played over and over. Eddie didn’t need to know how much his drunk rumblings meant to Richie, that they would stay in his head forever, pulsating through the body with each heart beat.

Eddie rolled over, giving away his earlier place, moving closer to the right side against the wall. There was light left in the bathroom, a small strip of color that diffused as Richie removed his glasses, the moonlight painting the rest of the place in bleak blue. The blanket was almost cold when Richie got in.

He flinched at the sudden touch of warm hands against his ribs. “Sorry.” Eddie mumbled but didn’t move away. Where the fingers touched his skin, heat spread like wildfire right to his heart. Cold feet pushed at his, and Richie turned his head to where Eddie was supposed to be. 

Dark eyes were on him, smallest stars of light dancing in them. 

“I missed you.” 

Richie opened his mouth, forgetting how to breath. The words were slurred, muffled from the pillow, yet they were the most incredible thing that he has ever heard. He thought his bones would melt where Eddie’s thumb touched his chest, absent circles again, no longer breaking pace. This was a fever dream, both hell and heaven, and Richie wouldn’t give it away.

Eddie was drunk and Richie’s heart was too selfish to let it go. 

“You used to add ‘my love’.” Eddie spoke again, quieter this time, barely a whisper.

“Huh?”

“‘Eddie, my love’.” He felt an annoyed poke at his ribs. “Do you remember? Along with your other shitty nicknames.”

Richie remembered. Shit, he could replay the scenes in his head like old movies, every detail at its rightful place. The nicknames. Freckles, smiles, cast, bruises, hair messed up in the wind. He couldn’t tell now, in the dark, even inches apart, but those eyes, they were still the prettiest sight that Richie has ever seen. 

He felt tears prickling at the corners. Richie loved him so much, it felt like a cage against his lungs, he never loved anyone like this, with his hands trembling against the sheets, whole body ready to bolt and begging to stay. 

“Yeah.” 

His voice broke. He was sure now that the wound would never be closed, perhaps he was meant to die today, from the pain so much sharper than physical.

“Why did you stop?”

_Because I let it go too far. Because for me it got too real. _“We grew up.”

“You still call me ‘Eds’ and you still make jokes about my mother.” 

“You’re drunk–“

“I love you.”

A sob or hysterical laugh, again.

“Twenty-seven years and an insane fucking clown from the sewers, I still couldn't say it without a bottle.” There was shuffling, like blankets being pushed. “God, Bill is so _right, _I’m such a fucking _coward_.” Sniffling, a wet inhale. “When you were caught in the dead lights, I thought I lost you. I thought you died without learning this, without me ever saying it.” Eddie pushed up on his elbows, his face half illuminated by the strip of light. There were definite tear tracks, now. “I love you, Richie.”

He couldn’t make a sound. Eddie, _his _Eddie was confessing, and Richie could only swallow tears, hoping not to drown. His chest never felt heavier and tighter, whole body restraining his exploding heart, beating in his ears. 

“I– f-fuck, I–“ 

“God damn it.” Eddie sat up completely, swaying a bit as he did. “Fucking, just, I don’t know, forge–“

Richie almost broke their noses as he kissed him, rushing to get up. He felt like he was falling apart, with his last barriers crumbling down, whiskey and tears on his tongue. Day’s stubble burnt him, and there was blood in his mouth from the wound, they didn’t have nearly enough air, but he’d much rather die like _this, _hands touching Eddie’s neck and hair, brown eyes closed and mouth slightly open.

It’s the happiest he has ever been.

They parted, breathing deeper. Richie tried not to wonder how it would be tomorrow, without the whiskey. What he would do if Eddie forgot. If Eddie could really love him without the alcohol in his blood, if this, wet lips and pounding hearts, all raw and vulnerable, would become a distant memory. Richie couldn't see much, aside from the weak light brightening Eddie’s eyes, so he focused on them. He found Eddie’s hand after patting around the bed and squeezed gently.

“You’re so much braver than me, Eddie. _I _could never do it. It’s my– my worst fear, you, finding me out.” He couldn’t read Eddie’s expression, but he felt the shift, knees pressing against his thighs. “I was so afraid to lose you even in the way that I had, I decided not to risk it, ever. Shit, I said it so many times and none were fucking important, and now I, I can’t–“

Eddie kissed him, slowly, a press against the corner of his mouth.

“You’re the Trashmouth, Richie, you’ll figure something out.”

This time there were definite laughs, from both of them, nervous and a bit drunk on everything, as they lay back, crushing and curling into each other, cold feet tangling. Richie pressed Eddie’s hand against his chest, interlacing their fingers, feeling a smile against his collarbone.

For the first time the darkness around wasn’t scary.

Much later, after Richie sang _good morning_s in rising volume, Eddie flicked and swatted him on the forehead, telling him to _shut the hell up and go back to sleep_. The 'make me' response was almost automatic, making him freeze in alarm.   
  
Eddie opened one of his eyes, as if calculating something, sighed deeply, and landed the most childish kiss on Richie's mouth, dropping back onto the pillows immediately.  
  
"Hope this will suffice for a while."  
  
"You are the absolute cutest." Shaking Eddie's hand away from his forehead, Richie laughed, light and bubbly with overwhelming feelings. "Eddie, my love."  
  
"Uh-huh." He got tugged closer, almost used as a pillow. "Yeah, me too."  
  
They were gonna be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> watch me trying to figure out how stubble works lol
> 
> the title is cuz of this fucking tweet: https://twitter.com/anna_downey_/status/1165760964291153920?s=20  
that reddie energy hit me hard
> 
> also I keep listening to sad russian love songs while thinking about these two, I needed to get it out of my system  
much love!!


End file.
